We live not to ourselves, our work is life.

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.

Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.

Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths.

Leave the poor Some time for self-improvement. Let them not Be forced to grind the bones out of their arms For bread, but have some space to think and feel Like moral and immortal creatures.

The strongest passion which I have is honor.

None but the brave and beautiful can love.